


Fluffy Femlock

by DilynAliceBlake (orphan_account)



Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Asexual Relationship, F/F, Femlock, Teenlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2016-04-15
Packaged: 2018-05-13 12:39:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5708443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/DilynAliceBlake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is probably still floating around Tumblr somewhere.  It's based on a list of asexual intimacy I saw.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Watching tv or movies together

“Okay, okay, watch this next bit!” John’s eyes are lit with an excited smile.  She wiggles in place with anticipation, glancing between Sherlock’s face and the screen.

Sherlock chooses not to voice again the ridiculousness of Bond films.  “Well I would if you would shut up long enough!”  Personing exasperated fondness, she throws a few pieces of popcorn at John, miming irritation she knows she ought to feel.

“I’m not—Oh  _noooo_ , you missed it, now we have to rewind!” John’s pout is obviously exaggerated, and she skips back an entire scene so that they definitely won’t miss the line this time.

“There! Now pay attention, alright Sherlock?”  John snuggles into her partner, choosing to ignore the eyerolling in favor of reaching for the popcorn.

Even though they fuss at one another, rewatching the scene isn’t as much of a chore as they make it out to be.


	2. Going to events together

Wide eyes, practically overwhelmed with wonder, John voices her opinion in a near-whisper, though there is not silence to break among the screams and cranks and laughter.  “Ohhhh, it’s  _beautiful_!”  She turns in a slow circle, taking in as much as possible.

“I’ve never been to one at night, you know.  I always wanted to, but Da insisted it wasn’t safe.  I wanted to see the lights stark and shining against the backdrop of navy. My imagination was right.  They’re gorgeous, lit up this way.”  She turns to smile at her Sherlock, who isn’t as wonderstruck, but her gaze holds a gentle love as she voices her reply.

“So are you.”

With a smile, and a blush, John rushes over to squeeze her tight in a hug.

“Being here with you is more than I ever could have hoped for.”  There is a loud clatter as someone knocks down some wooden pins with a baseball. The moment, though perhaps not broken, takes on a lighter tone.

“Come on,” exclaims John eagerly, “let’s go win some prizes!”

Tugged by the hand, and not nearly as reluctant as she tries to effect, Sherlock follows John the same way she was swept away into love.


	3. Going on dates like the movies or shopping

“What about this color, would I wear this color?”  John looks to Sherlock for an opinion.  The vial of nail polish is held up next to her fingertips, assumedly to assist in visualization.

“How should I know?  You have a jumper that color.  I really don’t think there is a shade of nail polish you  _wouldn’t_ wear.”

“Oh!”  Her fingers, suddenly seemingly inspired, dance through the clinking glass containers, spidering across the shelves until her prize is found.

“This one!  I  _absolutely_  need this one, Sherlock!”

“Brown?  Hmm, actually, I don’t think I’ve seen you ever wear brown nail polish.”

“No, but look!”  John reaches forward to grab a lock of the taller girl’s hair, tugging down the curl so that both it and the polish are within Sherlock’s line of sight.  “It’s the same color as your hair!  Well,” she bites her lip, “sort of.”

Next to the solid matte of the single tone polish, rich overtones and undertones of honeyed red-auburn and deeper mahogany become more apparent.

“I can wear this one and then compare the shades when I run my fingers through your hair.  It’s not quite as pretty, but it will still remind me of you.”

Suddenly brown didn’t seem so boring a hair color, and Sherlock tried vehemently not to blush as they bought their items and made their way hand in hand to the documentary’s showing.

****


	4. Sharing secrets

“You don’t talk about your family much,” Sherlock noted aloud one day.  “Did something happen?”

John’s usually warm mood turned somber.  “No, I, they’re great, I just…”

“You just what?”

“Most of them don’t really approve.  Of,” she gestures between them, “my lifestyle.”

“Your  _lifestyle_.  Not your having a girlfriend.”  Sherlock’s icy eyes peer at her.  “You haven’t told them about me.”  The statement is flat, but John can hear a world of hurt within it.

“I’m not ashamed–”

“I never said you were.” Sherlock’s stare was cold.  “How telling, that that is the conclusion you would jump to.”

“No, Sherlock, I’m not,  _I’m not._ ”

“Which of us are you trying to convince, Watson?”

John’s fist clenched, and she set her jaw.

“Fine.  Fine, I’ll tell them, and then they’ll know, and you’ll know.  I won’t have you doubting my feelings for you Sherlock.  Not for anything.”

The next time Sherlock saw John, she was sporting a black eye and several nasty bruises across her torso.

“John!  What happe—Oh.  That. This isn’t what I wanted.  I didn’t know that–”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s bloody  _not_  fine!”

“No, it is, it  _is_.  It couldn’t have stayed secret forever.  Dad will cool off, he will, it’ll just take him a while to come to terms with it.”

Sherlock reached out to gently touch her fingertips to John’s swollen cheek, when deep blue eyes looked up to meet hers.

“Hey, Sherl.  No need to look so sad.”

Sherlock hadn’t thought she looked sad.  She was just analyzing the damage.

“Sherl.  Hey, Sherly.  Snap out of it.  Mum wants to meet you Sunday, when Dad’s out.  Harry, too.”

Sherlock crinkled her brow, obviously missing some social significance.  “Meet me?  Why would they want to meet me?”

“Because, Sherlock, they can tell how important you are to me.”

 “I'm–”

“ _Yes_ , you _berk_!  You’re my best friend.”


	5. Chapter 5

**a/n: BEEP BEEP, femlock friday has inspired the angst train, make way!!**

 

“No, geeze, Sherlock, luv, why are you crying?”

It’s not yet five in the morning, but Sherlock had shown up at John’s house, picked the lock, and snuck into her bed.  That accomplished, she seems reduced to sobs, and John hurts for her as they wrack her body.  The blonde rubs soothing circles over her girlfriend’s back.

“Breathe, breath, it’s alright, I’m here.  Whatever it is, I’m here for you.”

Sherlock launches herself across any space remaining between them on the bed, and wraps herself around John tighter than cling film.  The tears don’t slow until well after dawn, but John is patient.  She texts Harry that she doesn’t need a ride to school, and the morning is spent sympathizing with some yet unknown tragedy.

Of course, why Sherlock is upset comes secondary to fact that she _is_ , and John will be there for her.  She could no more do otherwise than stop breathing.

When the trembling in Sherlock’s form is minor, and her voice a scratchy whisper, John gets the story in pieces.  Redbeard, Sherlock’s long beloved Irish Setter, was run over by an inattentive Mycroft on her way out the driveway.   Apparently lacking _all_ sensitivity, Mycroft had still left for work within the hour, brisk reassurances of a funeral for the dog later.

Beneath John’s skin, rage boils.  She coaxes Sherlock into eating something; Triple fudge ice cream appropriate for the occasion of mourning, and then insists on making their way back to Sherlock’s, where she digs the grave herself with Sherlock looking on.

They gather the dog’s favorite toys, and bury him with his bed and blanket.  Sherlock scalds Redbeard’s name into a large stone with an acid of her own mixing.  John is impressed with how well it eats into the stone, but now isn’t the time to praise Sherlock’s brilliance.  This is a somber time, and when the skies open to rain it feels only right.

John holds Sherlock in her arms while she stares for hours at the backyard grave, and when Mycroft Walks into the back yard, umbrella in hand, to talk to Sherlock about what to do about the dog, it is no less than a cruel interruption.  On the way into the house, John keeps her arm around Sherlock’s waist.

Sherlock is grateful, for surely without this support she would crumble.


End file.
